


goddamn orange juice

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, birthday fic, i don't know what this is but it's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 15:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11970111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: "Well, even at seven I'd hope you'd remember your boyfriend's birthday," Pete scolds, crossing his arms and huffing.Patrick groans again, squeezing his eyes shut and tries to think. Nothing comes. He shakes his head, opening his eyes again and asking, "Which one?"





	goddamn orange juice

**Author's Note:**

> _velociradtor said:  
>  you should write a poly fob fic where it's someone's birthday and the other three decide to make him breakfast in bed but fail in a cute way and it's domestic and fluffy??? idk i just rly love poly fob_
> 
> me too man. me too. 
> 
> have this for Joe's birthday!! happy birthday joe!!!
> 
> enjoy!

When Patrick wakes up to find himself being dragged out of bed and down the hall, it usually means one of two things: either he's slept in too long and his boyfriends have run out of better and less traumatic ways to wake him up, or Pete has decided to try doing poor excuses for pranks again. (The latter has happened way too many times, and always ends horribly for Patrick and Patrick alone.) 

But when Patrick opens his eyes, Andy is the one dragging him, not Pete, and he's being pulled into the kitchen, not simply off the bed, so this isn't some terrible method of awakening him. 

"What-" Patrick groans, blinking blearily and sitting up when Andy drops him on the hard linoleum floor. Pete is standing in the middle of the kitchen, skeptically inspecting an empty flour bag. Patrick finishes after a brief pause, "What the fuck are you guys doing?"

Pete turns his skeptical expression to Patrick, asking slowly, "You do know what today is, right?"

"You just woke me up and it's-" Patrick checks the clock, "-seven in the morning, what the fuck? Of course I don't know what today is."

"Well, even at seven I'd hope you'd remember your boyfriend's birthday," Pete scolds, crossing his arms and huffing. 

Patrick groans again, squeezing his eyes shut and tries to think. Nothing comes. He shakes his head, opening his eyes again and asking, "Which one?"

"Okay, seriously? None of our birthdays are even all that close to each other. You could at least stand to remember the month, right?" Andy asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Patrick narrows his eyes, focusing. "Uh...right...isn't it August? None of your birthdays are in August. Right? Or am I just that tired?"

"It's September, Patrick," Pete says, rolling his eyes as if this is the most annoying interaction he's ever had. Patrick has definitely had more annoying interactions with Pete himself, though. Multiple times. Daily. But that's not the point. 

"Oh! Oh, shit!" Patrick's eyes snap wide open as realization finally hits. "It's Joe's birthday!"

"Took you long enough," Pete says, tossing his empty flour bag to the ground. Yeah, okay, what's that about?

"What the fuck is going on, then?" Patrick asks, looking between his two petulant boyfriends and hoping he isn't supposed to know. 

"We're making him breakfast," Andy answers, and Patrick is pretty sure he wasn't supposed to know that, thank god. "So maybe you could be quieter so he doesn't wake up and ruin the surprise?"

"Right, right, sorry," Patrick responds, keeping his voice hushed. Andy is right - it's a miracle that Joe "first one out of bed every fucking morning" Trohman is still asleep in the first place. Patrick finally climbs to his feet. "What are we making?"

"Waffles, in theory," Pete replies, then gestures to the bag on the floor and laments, "But we're out of flour. And orange juice. I wanted to give him orange juice."

Patrick sighs heavily. This is already going horribly. But what did he expect? "We have an extra bag of flour in the pantry. I don't know why the fuck you want orange juice, but I'll go get some from the store if you really care that much."

"I absolutely do," Pete declares, nodding with certainty. "He deserves that orange juice, Patrick. He deserves it."

Patrick shakes his head. "Sometimes I forget why I'm dating you. Right! Orange juice. I'll...go get that, I guess."

"Mind if I come with?" Andy offers. "I want to...get out of the house...because...uh..."

"If you wanted to avoid Pete while he's trying to cook, you should've just said so," Patrick cuts him off, laughing a little under his breath. "Sure. Come on."

"Hey!" Pete complains. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a mess," Patrick answers, strolling over to the mess of a drawer he's pretty sure they put the car keys in. He roots through it as Pete complains some more, finally tugging out the key ring after way too long. 

"C'mon," he says, waving for Andy to follow, and they leave Pete yelling after them - breaking his own demand for quiet - as they go. 

Andy and Patrick climb into the car, and Patrick starts it up, pulling out of their garage as fast as he can. He knows Joe could wake up at any moment, so they're on a time limit here. And if Pete wants to get some damn orange juice, he's getting some damn orange juice. 

Getting orange juice isn't as easy as it really should be. 

First of all, the first store they stop at just doesn't have any. The next store has plenty of "orange concentrate", but neither Andy nor Patrick want to even go near that shit. And at the third store, which finally has some fucking orange juice, they break into a pointless argument. 

"Andy, put that down. Pulp is fucking gross."

Andy casts him a disinterested look. "Pulp is fine. Stop being picky."

"But Joe hates it," Patrick replies, proud to say that this is an absolutely airtight argument. "Are we going to give him a birthday breakfast he hates?"

"Pulp is cheaper," Andy says, one final half-assed objection to Patrick's obviously superior argument. 

"Because it's shit." Patrick grabs the pulp-free juice off the shelves and pulls Andy's selection out of his hands, replacing it less than gently. "We're getting the one without pulp. Because god knows our poor boyfriend is already going to suffer enough at the hand of Pete's cooking. He might as well have some good juice."

Andy can't really argue with that. He lets Patrick get the juice.

At this point, they've already been gone for thirty minutes. Patrick is worried Pete will have fucked something up terribly in their absence, but when they get back, the house hasn't burned down. So...that's a start, at least. 

But when they do walk in, they find Pete over-dramatically trying to attack the waffle iron with a large metal spoon. 

"I'm not gonna ask," Patrick says, shifting the carton of orange juice in his arms so he can hold it longer. His arms are starting to get tired - who knew orange juice was so fucking heavy? Or Patrick is just weak. But - not the point!

"I'm making it pay for its misdeeds!" Pete informs them, smacking the spoon down on the machine with a reverberant clang. 

"What did it do?" Andy asks reluctantly, as if he really doesn't want to know - and he definitely doesn't. Patrick understands the feeling. It's mutual. 

"It burned the waffles!" Pete complains, setting down the spoon long enough to lift up a plate of completely black waffles. 

Patrick frowns, watching as Andy steps forward to inspect the waffles, grimacing when they crumble under a light touch. 

"Pete, have you considered that maybe...that's not the waffle iron's fault?" Patrick suggests blankly, watching his stubborn boyfriend shake his head huffily and shake a challenging finger at the machine.

"Nope. Impossible," he declares, setting the plate of waffles down and going for the spoon again. 

"Hey. Hey, hon, maybe put that down now," Andy pipes up, watching worriedly as Pete prepares to strike the waffle iron again. "Could you, uh...put the ingredients back in the fridge, maybe?" He gestures around to all the miscellaneous food products scattered everywhere in the kitchen - including, for some reason, a half empty egg carton lying open in the sink. 

"Fine," Pete grumbles, grabbing the eggs and closing the carton as he stalks over towards the fridge, moving to yank the door open. 

Patrick doesn't see the precariously balanced bag of flour until it's too late. In a perfect example of slapstick comedy, Pete has left a mostly full and completely open bag of flour on top of the fridge, right on the door. And when he opens it, the flour bag falls down, drenching him and half the kitchen floor in fine white power. The egg carton clatters to the floor as well as Pete drops it in surprise, and half a dozen eggs are lost, cracking open in the mess of flour. 

"Oh my fucking god," Patrick says, unsure whether to try and help, or just stand here and laugh at the ridiculous sight in front of him. His arms are getting tired from holding the orange juice, but he doesn't want to move. 

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Three heads whip to the doorway to see Joe leaning against it, surveying the mess in the kitchen with amusement. Pete is still covered in flour and surrounded by broken eggs, the kitchen is full of random food items in increasingly confusing places, a plate of waffles burnt beyond recognition is on the counter, and Patrick is still holding the goddamn orange juice.

"Happy birthday?" Patrick tries weakly, giving a pained smile.

"We were trying to make you breakfast," Andy explains. "Pete burned the waffles. I can't really explain the rest of this."

"So we don't have waffles," Pete continues apologetically. 

"But we have orange juice?" Patrick finishes, holding the carton up like a peace offering.

Joe blinks once, then bursts into laughter. "Oh my god, this is the best thing I've seen in forever. You guys are the best. This is the best. I'll take the fucking orange juice. Thank you."

"So you're not upset I burned the waffles?" Pete asks, his eyes hopeful. 

"Of course not." Joe laughs again. "This is already the funniest birthday I've ever had. I'm kind of scared to see what's coming next, but at least we still have orange juice."

This is the exact moment that Patrick's arms give out under the weight of the juice, and it falls to the floor, the lid popping off and pouring orange liquid all over the already flour-covered floor. Patrick watches in mute disbelief as the one thing he'd managed to salvage from this mess spills everywhere.

"Oh my god," Patrick says weakly. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Alright," Joe concedes, "We're going to IHOP."

**Author's Note:**

> as always-
> 
> you can hmu w/ headcanons/prompts/ideas @ vicesandvelociraptors! 
> 
> and thanks for reading !


End file.
